See I’m the kind of cat writing all types of raps
From old ladies in pink tights and funny biker hats
To providing the hype beat down saliva slaps
Sounds kind of mean, you’re going fry for that
Spare yourself dishes, put me in the fire first
And use the frying pan for your diaphragm ma’am
OOOH you’re going to burn for that there
I don’t care, turn up the thermostat, you scared?
I see, it’s paying those utility bills
A city destroyed, yet another village he builds
Ability kills, I need to be a millipede
Cause I’ve got more shoes than that lady from the Philippines

I’m lounging around with a rime in my mind
And a microphone perched right in front of my eyes
And there’s no work today and fresh beat arrived
So what better reason to makes tracks?

Throw a bleeding heart visa card deep inside your Cuisenart
See the making of a massive debt that’s the easy part
See this is me playing with words
Creating abrasions and burns
Debated from the bay to the burbs
Like Sinead with a swerve, I’m finagling verbs
Make your own genre, I’m enabling blurs
As the label kings serve curses protecting pyramid schemes
Assert purchases as you please

I’m lounging around with a rime in my mind
And a microphone perched right in front of my eyes
And there’s no work today and fresh beat arrived
So what better reason to makes tracks?

I mean, trust yourself
Simplicity is complicated
Lust it sells
Must develop stronger spines, is it all the soda pop
Sold out of Pony Boy’s loaded shop
cause these are the mics that I’m prone to rock
And most of my bragging is a load of crock
I’m a motorbike riding over tons of words
And now the prototype flow is like a Thunderbird
No Patron and ice owning my abundant work
Is a flow to make them sponge the earth, and that’s worth
Sort of more than a Duck, peace to Kevin, with his recent effort
Maybe he’s in heaven trailblazer ahoy poised and teaching lessons
I seek perfection with a pair of bandaged hands
Cause nobody ever made it without falling maaan
Listen, ammunition is a plan in action lights camera
Standing fast to mic manna, scan the sights and fly faster
Past the astronauts blasting Sebastian Bach,
Enact rap with with flat black kalashnikovs, got them backing off

I’m lounging around with a rime in my mind
And a microphone perched right in front of my eyes
And there’s no work today and fresh beat arrived
So what better reason to makes tracks?

Peeling away leaving vinyl sticker backs, ripping tracks
Sipping that Tang like I’m living vivid skinemax,
spin the wax back wicked with the raps, that’s different
Giving half-assed kids the jitters when I slap rhythm
That did it, minimum is vast crashing a tracks driven
stacking attacks with some laughter attached
Cause if it’s not fun then I cannot stun
The mic is my sun make breaks and tight drums
Mayday to light ones